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Authors: Patrick Robinson

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BOOK: Hunter Killer
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The President paused to let his jackhammer words, drafted and honed by Arnold Morgan, ring around the room, and indeed around the world.

“As many of you know, this is not the first time the French have stepped out of line with the rest of mankind. Not so long ago they tried everything they knew to stop a United States President remove from power one of the most villainous tyrants of our time from Iraq.

“This was a man whose hands dripped with blood, the blood of his own people. He was a man who started off as some kind of a tribal murderer and who ended up a full-fledged psychopath, who slaughtered an estimated three hundred thousand of his own people, some with chemical weapons. He was a man who had fired guided missiles at innocent Israeli families, tried to conquer Kuwait. And the French tried to protect him because of their commercial ties to Iraq.

“Perhaps it’s because we saved them in World War Two, perhaps it’s because their pride has never recovered from their government’s cowardice and their army’s lack of leadership. But it seems there are no lengths to which they will not go to remain solidly anti-American. And this time they have gone too far. They have brought the Western world to its knees financially. But only temporarily. We’ll get up.

“Meanwhile my advisers are considering our position with regard to the French action. Right now we are about ready to declare Saudi oil a global asset. It may be that we, and our principal allies, consider the Saudis no longer competent to act as custodians of that asset. But we expect no cooperation from the French in any form.

“My fellow Americans, I am certain of our ground. I am certain of the very great wrong that has been perpetrated upon the nations of the earth. And I make no apologies for any sentence I have uttered tonight.

“I will take no questions. But I say again to the President and the government of the Republic of France, WE KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. AND I ACCUSE…I ACCUSE…I ACCUSE.”

And with that, the Virginian Democrat, Paul Bedford, the forty-fifth President of the United States of America, turned on his heel and walked from the dais, leaving Admiral Morgan to answer any questions there might be.

However, the room was in such total uproar there was nothing that could have been heard, never mind asked and answered. The wire service reporters had stampeded to the back of the room, and within seconds were yelling down their cell phones. The time was 7:20
P.M
., a critical time in many newspaper offices. The network television reporters were dying to fire in a question that would portray them on air as focused, wise, and farsighted political observers.

Trouble was they all went for immortality at the same time, and the result was absurd. Nothing short of bedlam. Admiral Morgan shook his head and growled into one of the microphones, “Either you guys get your goddamn act together and stop behaving like children, or I am leaving.”

That statement was not broadcast on any network. And finally the din subsided and someone called out, “Sir, does the French President know what our President has just said?”

Admiral Morgan said, “For all I know the French President is in the sack, since it’s after midnight in Paris. But if he’s sitting up in bed watching CNN or something, I guess he’s heard. We announced President Bedford’s prime-time address several hours ago.”

“Sir, do you expect to hear from the French President either tonight or tomorrow?”

“No. Not directly. But I expect the Prime Minister of France to make a statement on behalf of his government, denying any and all involvement in the recent events in Saudi Arabia. I expect him to denounce the United States as perpetrators of a gigantic lie against the French Republic, and to call upon the United Nations to reprimand our UN Ambassador in the strongest possible terms.”

“What do we do then?”

“Shut up, Tommy, will ya? Haven’t you got enough of a great story without standing there saying, ‘And then what?’ over and over. Jesus, do you guys actually get paid to go through this bullshit?”

That part was not broadcast either, on any network. But it made the reporters laugh, and no one much minded when the Admiral shook his head and said, “I’m outta this zoo. Go write your stuff.”

Admiral Morgan left the West Wing immediately. Kathy was waiting at the wheel of his beloved Hummer, and they made the journey back to Chevy Chase together.

The fire in the study had been prepared, and all Morgan needed to do was light it and turn on the television. Mrs. Newgate, their new housekeeper, employed as soon as the Morgans returned to the White House, announced that dinner would be ready at 8:45, and would the Admiral like her to open a bottle of wine.

Morgan replied that the way he felt, a case would probably be more appropriate, but he would settle for a bottle of Château de l’Hospital 2000, a pricey red Bordeaux. “And you’d better pour it into a decanter,” said Morgan. “Might as well drink it in style. Alan Dickson and I just decided not to blow the place up.”

Mrs. Newgate’s somewhat bewildered reply was lost in the thunder of Morgan’s next words.
“JESUS H. CHRIST! THAT WAS FAST!”

At which point, Mrs. Newgate, who hardly knew the Admiral personally, had not moved, and for a split second she thought he was being sarcastic. But then she noticed he was riveted to the television screen, where a man in a dark suit and a maroon striped tie was speaking in rapid French while a CNN interpreter turned his words into English.


…and France cannot understand the accusations of the American President…our government is completely unaware of any of the actions he attributes to us…we know of no French commanders in Saudi Arabia, our submarines make the Suez Canal transit every month…there is no mystery…we conduct exercises in the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean, as they do…our base is at La Réunion, theirs is at Diego Garcia…there’s no difference.

“And what is this crazy signal from Riyadh they speak of? What signal? Was it in French? Who says so? And where are these pho
tographs they claim to have? We have never been shown…it is absolutely preposterous that the President of the United States should level against us accusations of this nature.

“And I assure every citizen of this nation we shall take this matter before the United Nations in New York, and we will demand satisfaction. We will demand an apology. These charges are unfounded, and we deny them most vigorously. I am sure the Americans, with their innate jealousy of France and its civilized standards, would like them to be true. But I am afraid not, Mr. President. They are lies. And I end my address as President Bedford ended his. With a repetition, n’est-ce pas? NON! NON! And NON! again.”

“You go for it, pal,” muttered Arnold Morgan. “You lying frogeating bastard.”

At this point, Kathy came into the study bearing a weak, tall Scotch-and-soda for her husband, the way he liked it. No ice. She glanced at the television and heard the commentator saying:
“And so, the United States stands accused tonight of slandering the Republic of France, and will probably have to face the censure of the Security Council of the United Nations.

“A UN spokesman said a few minutes ago that President Bedford had made many allegations that would be difficult to prove. He added that the Secretary-General was most surprised that as a Permanent Member of the Security Council, the United States would choose to abuse another Permanent Member in this way.”

At this point, the anchorman began to turn the newscast over to CNN’s United Nations correspondent, who was standing outside the great building with the myriad national flags fluttering behind him in the rain.

“Thank you, Joe.”

“You’re very welcome, Fred. Perhaps you’d give an outline of the procedures we may expect against the United States…”

“Be happy to, Joe…and I should start by saying these are very grave accusations, and I understand France has already filed a request for an emergency meeting of the Security Council, which, under the charter, must now meet inside the next twenty-four hours.

“The Security Council is the most powerful body within the United Nations and contains five permanent members—China, France, the Russian Federation, the United Kingdom, and the United States of America. There are also ten nonpermanent members, and for a censure motion to go through, I am advised that a straight majority of nine votes would be required. We may assume that the United States and Great Britain will vote no to the French motion, and we may have one or two other supporters.

“However, informed opinion here at UN Headquarters suggests the United States will lose the vote and very probably will be hauled before the General Assembly, and be very publicly censured for making unsubstantiated allegations against a founding Member State.”

“How about we substantiate them, asshole?” muttered Arnold Morgan.

Kathy made her biannual objection to his language, saying, “I do wish you would not use that disgusting word so often…”

“What word? France?” asked the Admiral.

“No.”

“Well, what word?”

“I will not repeat it.”

“Well, how am I to repent and promise to be better if I am kept in the dark about the entire basis of my crime?”

“You are, of course, impossible…” began Kathy.

“Hold it, darling .. just for a moment…please…I want to hear what this asshole is trying to say.”

Kathy, as ever, could not help laughing at him, and she walked back to the kitchen with the words of an apparent asshole in her ears. “…
Make no mistake…this is very serious trouble for this administration.”

 

THE FOLLOWING MORNING
THE PENTAGON
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

They were gathered in the fourth-floor office of Admiral Alan Dickson—Arnold Morgan, Admiral Frank Doran (C-in-C Atlantic Fleet), who had flown up from the Norfolk Naval Yards, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Tim Scannell, who had accepted an invitation to sit in on the meeting, even though this was, at present, strictly a Navy issue. In the opinion of Admiral Morgan, the least number of people who knew about this the better. As Supreme Commander of Operation Tanker, he took the seat at the head of the table. “Now I guess we’ve all seen the newspapers and listened to the television broadcasts, and understand that the U.S.A. is about to come under worldwide attack inside the United Nations. I should tell you that I planned that, because what we are about to do has a good chance of being judged so shocking that no one would dream we were the culprits, since we’re in so much trouble already.”

General Scannell and Admiral Doran both tried to suppress chuckles. But failed.

Morgan proceeded. “Gentlemen, we’re not in any trouble. France, whatever that Prime Minister says, did take down the Saudi King and it did plunge the world economy into crisis. And we are going to do something about it.”

He outlined the plan that Admiral Dickson had masterminded. The quick hit on the first tanker carrying French crude oil to come out of the Gulf. Then another hit on the first French tanker to enter the Red Sea through the Bab el Mandeb.

“That should slow them down some,” said Morgan. “But the French are proud and arrogant. Admiral Dickson and I think the next French tanker will enter the Strait of Hormuz under escort. And that’s when we cause a total uproar. We hit the escort first, with a torpedo. Then we hit tanker number three. And that will wrap it right up for France. They will not try to exit the Gulf with fuel oil again until we’re good and ready to allow it.”

“Arnie, is this a public operation…like we hit and we don’t care who knows it?” General Scannell, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, looked concerned.

“Not at this stage,” replied Morgan. “We’ll launch from submarines, way under the surface, and we will not admit to anyone what we’ve done. We’ll just let ’em all have a guessing game.”

“Torpedoes?” asked the CJC.

“Yes. Fired from several miles out. But not in the case of the last tanker. We’ll hit that with three or four Harpoons, set the oil on fire, save a lot of pollution.”

“Do you intend to let anyone know it was the U.S. of A. that sank the ships?”

“No.”

“I realize this is a kind of naive question to ask in a room full of sailors,” said General Scannell, “but how do we know if a tanker is full of French oil or not? I thought they were all registered in Liberia or Panama or somewhere. They must all look the same.”

“In a sense, they do, Tim,” replied Admiral Dickson. “But we’ve been checking on both the VLCCs and the ULCCs which service France…”

“What’s a ULCC?”

“Same as a VLCC, that’s a very large crude carrier. A ULCC is an ultra-large crude carrier, maybe up to four-hundred thousand tons.”

“We gonna hit one of those?”

“Maybe,” said Admiral Dickson. “But to answer your question about identifying the correct target, we’ve been researching the TotalFinaElf conglomerate and the methods it uses to move large quantities of oil. And much of it is done by a highly reputable corporation based in Luxembourg. It’s called TRANSEURO, and they’ve run a fleet of maybe fourteen or fifteen tankers for years, under long-term charter to Total, mostly in the two-hundred-fifty– to three-hundred-thousand–ton range.

“In the trade they call it French Flag Tonnage. But these tankers ply their trade back and forth from the Gulf to Marseille, Brest, and the other French oil ports. They can carry either crude oil or liquid natural gas. And we can identify them with no trouble, even if they choose to fly a flag of convenience.”

“We got submarines somewhere close?” asked General Scannell.

“Very close,” said Admiral Dickson. “In fact we got two of the best submarines in the fleet out there right now. They’re in the Arabian Sea with the
Ronald Reagan
CVBG. The two newest Virginia-class SSNs,
Hawaii
and
North Carolina
…really great boats, seventy-eight-hundred-ton submerged-launch Tomahawk cruise missiles and thirty-eight Mark 8 ADCAP torpedoes.

“If we need four more, which I think we do, the
Cheyenne
and the
Santa Fe—
coupl’a L.A.-class attack submarines with the
Constellation
Group—are on station in the Gulf, off Kuwait. And we got
Toledo
and
Charlotte
ready to clear Diego Garcia any time we need ’em. Just so
Connie
ain’t hanging around with no underwater backup.”

BOOK: Hunter Killer
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